rs, the costly fantastic
dress, and the diamonds flashing against the white skin.

'In what part?'

'In Bedford Square.'

Lady Aubrey was silent. She had no ideas on the subject of Bedford
Square at command.

'We are very central,' said Catherine, feeling desperately that she was
doing Robert no credit at all, and anxious to talk if only something
could be found to talk about.

'Oh yes, you are near the theatres,' said the other indifferently.

This was hardly an aspect of the matter which had yet occurred to
Catherine. A flash of bitterness ran through her. Had they left their
Murewell life to be 'near the theatres,' and kept at arm's length by
supercilious great ladies?

'We are very far from the Park,' she answered with an effort. 'I wish we
weren't, for my little girl's sake.'

'Oh, you have a little girl! How old?'

'Sixteen months.'

'Too young to be a nuisance yet. Mine are just old enough to be in
everybody's way. Children are out of place in London. I always want to
leave mine in the country, but my husband objects,' said Lady Aubrey
coolly. There was a certain piquancy in saying frank things to this
stiff Madonna-faced woman.

Madame de Netteville, meanwhile, was keeping up a conversation in an
undertone with young Evershed, who had come to sit on a stool beside
her, and was gazing up at her with eyes of which the expression was
perfectly understood by several persons present. The handsome,
dissipated, ill-conditioned youth had been her slave and shadow for the
last two years. His devotion now no longer amused her, and she was
endeavouring to get rid of it and of him. But the process was a
difficult one, and took both time and _finesse_.

She kept her eye, notwithstanding, on the new-comers whom the squire's
introduction had brought to her that night. When the Elsmeres rose to
go, she said good-bye to Catherine with an excessive politeness, under
which her poor guest, conscious of her own _gaucherie_ during the
evening, felt the touch of satire she was perhaps meant to feel. But
when Catherine was well ahead Madame de Netteville gave Robert one of
her most brilliant smiles.

'Friday evening, Mr. Elsmere; always Fridays. You will remember?'

The _naivete_ of Robert's social view, and the mobility of his temper,
made him easily responsive. He had just enjoyed half an hour's brilliant
talk with two or three of the keenest and most accomplished men in
Europe. Catherine had slipped out of his sig